


the fight is on (the lights are off)

by Liberte_Egalite_Broadway



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Fights, Fluff, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Juno Steel Has a Thing For Teeth, Other, Reunions, Rivalry, and so Peter goes "fight me", basically Jet and Peter each think they're the better thief, so they fight and that turns Juno on quite a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 21:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20234986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liberte_Egalite_Broadway/pseuds/Liberte_Egalite_Broadway
Summary: When Peter Nureyev (alias Blanche Pine) and Jet Siquliak disagree on who the best thief of the team is, they decide to settle matters the old-fashioned way and fight it out.Juno finds this really hot.





	the fight is on (the lights are off)

**Author's Note:**

> it's horny hours folks
> 
> TW for fighting, strong language, and (consensual and wanted) rough sex.
> 
> (This fic is very very NSFW so please proceed with caution).

Valles Vicky once told me that I have the most specific taste of anyone she’s ever met. Honestly, she’s not wrong. I like people who I know I don’t deserve. I like people who are taller than me, and I’m always weak for big muscles. Basically, I like people who look like they could smash me into pulp. 

And, well, it just so happens that I’ve got two guys who fit that exact description on this ship with me right now. Jet Siquliak and Peter Nureyev are both intelligent, talented, and sexy in completely different ways. With Jet I have a steady, bantering friendship that’s honestly kind of nice. With Nureyev I have history, but I try not to think about that too much. 

And here’s the real punch line: they absolutely hate each other. 

“I just have one question, Buddy,” drawls Nureyev, or rather, drawls Blanche Pine, as we go over the notes for our upcoming heist. Blanche Pine is a thief that Buddy and Vespa worked with fifteen years back, who they’ve kept in touch with since, but haven’t seen in a while. He’s also the most abrasive and blunt mask I’ve ever seen Nureyev don. Everything that pops into Blanche’s head comes out of his mouth, often layered under sharp, syrupy smiles. He’s frustrating. It’s hot. “You told us that someone needs to steal the maps, yes? But then you told me that I’ll be going with Rita, who is moving in the  _ opposite _ direction of the maps.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, darling. I should clarify.” Buddy looks down the table. “Jet will be stealing the maps.”

“No,” says Blanche. 

“Excuse me?”

“ _ I  _ am the thief of this crew.” Blanche waves his cigarette, leaving a trail of smoke. “ _ I  _ am one of the best criminals in the galaxy.  _ I  _ do not want to be degraded to escort duty. Jet can go with Rita.”

“I am capable of stealing the maps,” says Jet. “It is true that I have fallen out of practice. However, this is a very small feat. I can do it easily.”

“Oh no. No, you have what, one real famous heist to your name?” Blanche swivels in his chair. “Iris of Jupiter? A legend, certainly, but now, let me see - wasn’t that legend mostly grown by the car that enabled you to that heist? And it’s my car now. Because I stole it.” 

“You may be a good thief, it is true-”

“Yes it damn well is true.”

“However, you are not well known.”

“Because I haven’t allowed myself to be. I want to stay anonymous.”

Jet shrugs. “You can say that all you like.”

Blanche lets a stream of smoke filter out between his black lips. “ _ You _ can suck my dick.” 

“ _ Okay, enough _ ,” says Vespa. She puts her hands onto the table and leans into the space between them so they can’t see each other. “That’s enough. Buddy gave you your assignments, so you’ll do them. Got it? Good. We’re done here.” 

“Fine.” Blanche hops up from the table and sashays away, leaving the smell of his cigarette smoke and cologne lingering in the air. He didn’t look at me once this entire meeting, like I don’t exist to him. But then, of course I don’t. Blanche Pine doesn’t know me outside of this crew. Blanche Pine never held me in his arms in a hotel. 

Blanche Pine has never had his heart broken by me. 

Here’s the thing. Nureyev and I, we’ve talked. I explained everything to him, explained why I did it, then explained that I knew an explanation wasn’t enough, and he deserved better, and I was sorry. He told me he understood, and that I didn’t need to ask for his forgiveness because I already had it, and we left it there. Now I’m wishing that we hadn’t. 

I still love him, I just don’t know how to tell him that. 

So we leave for the heist, with Jet and I heading out first together. I can feel Nureyev’s eyes on us as we leave, but what that look means, I have no idea. The job goes smoothly enough, and Jet gets the maps without a hitch. When we get back on the ship Buddy is in a good mood. “I’m proud of us, darlings. That went off better than any heist we’ve ever done so far” She holds her hand out to Jet: “May we see the map?”

He reaches into his pocket, fishes around. Then he stops. He reaches into another pocket and does the same thing. “Unusual. I was sure-” He checks all of his pockets, and I see his eyebrows furrow, which is an extreme display of emotion for him. Buddy frowns. 

“You do  _ have _ the map, don’t you?”

“I am sure I put it right here. However…”

“Are you looking for this?” calls a sing-song voice. We all look over, and there’s Blanche, draped across his chair with the map dangling between his sharp fingernails. Jet snatches it away and glowers, which makes Blanche smile. “Honestly, if you’re going to steal things, you should know when you’re being stolen from. Your breast pocket? Really?” 

Jet’s sour about it, but he doesn’t just duck his head and move on with the mission like I’d expected. Instead, the next morning, Blanche storms into the breakfast room demanding to know where his knife is, the one he always has under his pillow while he sleeps. Jet glances at me and gives me a wink, which, hot, and then goes back to cutting his sausages with a familiar looking blade. 

Everything goes downhill from there. Blanche’s glasses vanish from the case. Jet’s jacket suddenly has a pine tree stitched onto the lapel. Their knives and blasters are switched out and moved around and sometimes vanish completely. When we go on heists, it doesn’t matter who’s assigned to do what anymore - it’s a race between them to get to our prize first. Nureyev is using all of Blanche’s irritation and irritability, flaring with anger and then simmering with amusement, while Jet is stoic and nonchalant as he lets their contest continue.

It doesn’t stop with thefts. We all have to hear stories of their escapades and their strengths, in great detail, all the damn time. 

“It is not true that I stole the Ruby 7. I stole the money with which I commissioned it. The man who owned that money was present while the theft took place and he suspected nothing.” 

“I once escaped from the highest security prison on Neptune without any lockpicks or code scramblers.” 

“To practice for the Iris of Jupiter heist, I stole the Hope Diamond from a museum on Earth.” 

“I own a silver nail file valued at 100 billion creds.”

“I am fluent in twelve languages.”

“I once killed a man by crushing his skull.” 

Rita seems impressed by that story. “Ew, really? Didja do it with your bare hands?” 

Nureyev sips his tea. “With my thighs.”

I try not to think about how much I want him to crush my skull with his thighs. 

Their intensity has raised the tension on the ship, but I can also feel tension between me and Nureyev. There are times when I catch him looking at me, only for him to look away as soon as our eyes meet. There are times where we’re walking somewhere together, and if we’re briefly alone, he quickens his pace so he’s not next to me. With everyone else around he’s friendly towards me, and he always treats me with respect. But I want more than respect, and I have no idea how to ask for it. 

  
Buddy and Vespa are pretty openly annoyed by the fact that the crew dynamic has changed. Buddy tries to get the two to cooperate, and she never sends them out on missions together unless it’s absolutely necessary. 

“Why do you dislike him so much?” I ask Jet one day while he’s working the control panel. I’m sitting on the shelf next to it. “I get that he took your car -”

“It is not simply that fact.” Jet presses a few buttons on the control panel, and there’s tension in his fingers. I’m getting better at reading the small tells that give away his emotions. “It is how he flaunts it. He is irritating.”

“Yeah, he is.” I shrug, swing my feet above the floor. “Doesn’t mean you have to rise to his challenge.”

“I do not often back down from a challenge.” He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Can you understand that?” 

“I guess so.” 

“I thought you might. You are generally a very understanding person, Juno.” 

Oh god, I can feel myself blushing. “Shut up.” 

“Juno?” 

I look up, and there’s Nureyev, standing in the doorway in his high high heels with a look I can’t quite identify on his face. 

“Vespa sent me to get you.” He fixes his brown eyes on Jet. “I hope you don’t mind if I steal him away.” 

“Not at all.” To me, he says, “I will see you later.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” I hop down and go over to Nureyev, and he purses his lips, and steps aside so I can walk past him. “How’s it going?” I ask, but he’s already striding ahead of me. 

“This way. Vespa is quite impatient.” And we don’t say another word to each other. 

I don’t see Nureyev - Blanche - for the rest of the evening, or that night. When I go to bed, I keep thinking about that look on his face. Did I do something wrong? Did he think I was chatting up Jet, and did that make him - what? Jealous? He hasn’t shown any interest in me. What right do I have to think he might be jealous?

I’m sitting at the breakfast table with the rest of the crew the next morning when Blanche suddenly strides in and throws himself across a chair. “I’ve had an idea,” he says in Jet’s direction. “You believe, unreasonably, that you are a better criminal than me. While I am convinced, with good reason, that I am a better criminal than you.”

“That is our conflict, yes.”

“So I think we should resolve it.” He leans forward across the table. “We don’t have anything going on today. Why not settle the matter this afternoon?”

“I do not follow.” 

“I’m saying fight me.”

“Blanche, really,” sighs Buddy. 

Jet doesn’t show any reaction at all, except for one quick blink. “Oh,” he says. “I do not think that is advisable. I could cause you harm.” 

“And I’m sure I could cause harm to you. But that’s the point of a fight.” Blanche shrugs one graceful shoulder. “We have a training gym, why not use it?”

Jet takes a long sip of his coffee, then sets it down.“Very well.” 

“Excellent. See you at two o’clock then.” And he grabs a bagel from the table and flounces away. 

“This is stupid,” says Vespa, shaking her head. “You two are supposed to be  _ teammates _ . What part of that isn’t clear to you two? You’re supposed to get along.”

“We work together. That is not the same is getting along.”

“I think it sounds real dangerous!” Rita pipes up. “What if one of ya actually gets hurt? Then how are you gonna do our next mission?”

“I do not think that is a concern.”

“Well I do! Mistah Steel, back me up!”

I don’t jump into the conversation, though. Something’s occured to me. 

I’m gonna have to watch these two guys… who I’m both very attracted to… fighting. 

Oh god, I’m actually going to die. 

“Mistah Steel?”

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “She’s right. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

“And I am sure that is not a concern.”

“Well, I wanna be your ref,” Rita’s saying from across the table. “So I can make sure you don’t get roughed up too bad.”

“Fair. Now I would like to finish breakfast.” Jet goes back to looking at his food, which is good because it means he won’t be looking at me, and seeing the blush covering my entire face.

Our training gym isn’t big, but it fits all six of us pretty well. Buddy and Vespa perch on one of the weight benches pushed into the corner; Rita is by the side of the wall, with a whistle in hand. Jet sits on the floor in the center of the room.

The door slides open. Nureyev strides in, purposeful. Just about kills me on the spot. He’s in these very tight, very short red shorts, and a pale blue tank top hanging loosely off of his body. No heels, no jewelry, no fancy clothes. He does still have makeup on, though, black eyeliner as sharp as the knives in his hands. 

Or maybe not, since those knives actually seem to be fake. He grins sharply. “Thank you for agreeing to this.” 

“Thank you for inviting me.” Jet climbs to his feet and -  _ holy shit _ \- shrugs his shirt off. And yep, he could definitely kill me with those muscles. Nureyev arches an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. “So, how exactly will we do this?”

“Oh, I’ve actually got the rules!” Rita skips forward and brandishes the clipboard tucked under her arm. “So! I looked up the standard rules for a fight on a  _ bunch  _ of different planets, and here’s what I came up with, ready? So, if one of you pins the other for ten seconds, or gets the other guy to say somethin’ like, ‘Hey, I give up!’ then ya win. But no real weapons and no broken bones allowed, okay? If you do that, you lose automatically, so Mistah Pine -”

“It’s a plastic knife.”

“Oh. Well that’s okay then. Now you gotta shake hands.”

“This is so stupid,” mutters Buddy under her breath. I try to nod along like I’m not already ridiculously turned on. 

Jet and Nureyev shake hands, and I think Jet might actually be smiling a little. “May the best thief win.”

“Oh, I intend to.” 

“Ready?” Rita steps back so she’s out their way. “Ten… nine… eight… sevensixfivefourthreetwoone!” And she blows her whistle. 

I thought this was going to be intense, but boy, I had no idea. As soon as the whistle goes off Nureyev launches a punch at Jet’s jaw; before he can land it Jet’s ducked out of the way and moved slightly to the side. He throws another punch back, those huge, deadly hands curled into tight fists. Nureyev darts out of the way and sweeps a kick at Jet’s legs. He moves like a dancer, turning here, leaping there, diving out of the way and then lunging forward. After a few dodges from both of them one of Nureyev’s kicks hits Jet’s side with a loud  _ smack _ . Vespa winces. 

Jet doesn’t even seem to feel it. In a movement so fast I hardly see it, he grabs Nureyev’s ankle and tries to pull him down by his leg - but now Nureyev’s shifted his weight and Jet is off balance and he uses that to throw him back a little. Jet tries to punch him in the stomach, but Nureyev does the same thing Jet just did to him - catches him, by his wrist this time, and then freaking  _ flips him over his head _ like he’s slinging a bag of flour, with that satisfied smirk on his face as Jet hits the floor, standing above him -

Oh god, this is really hot. 

Nureyev tries to pin him, but apparently Jet was expecting that, and he flips himself over, using the other thief’s momentum and - okay holy shit there’s this split second where he’s  _ on top of Nureyev _ , and then Nureyev snarls and shoves him away and gets to his feet but before he can really get away Jet grabs him by the collar of his shirt and yanks him back, oh my god this is so hot - oh my  _ fucking  _ god, Nureyev just darts out of the way with that dancer’s body and… and… 

And he takes his shirt off. 

So now they’re both shirtless, sweaty, circling each other again. I think I’m actually going to die. It doesn’t help that the fight seems even more intense now than it did before. Nureyev’s using his knife now; when he can’t deflect a punch in time, he’ll jab Jet with the tip of it. Even though it’s plastic, it still looks like it could hurt if poked into skin, or slapped flat across it, which is what he’s doing. He jumps back as Jet swings at him again, arms thrown back behind him, his ear cuff swinging. “Is that all you’ve got?” he laughs in Blanche’s voice. I feel a hot rush run through me at that voice. 

He’s getting cocky, and Jet sees it. Suddenly there’s a rush of limbs, punches and dodges, some blur of motion I don’t quite understand, but when it ends Jet has Nureyev  _ by his waist  _ in this half-headlock, half bear-hug of death. Nureyev gasps for breath, sweat dripping down his extremely bare chest, arms scrambling for purchase, teeth clenched, and well that’s it, I’m hard. 

Jet throws him back. He crashes into a rack of equipment. Buddy jumps to her feet, but Vespa pulls her back down. “Let them get it out of their system,” she advises. “Otherwise we’ll be hearing about this again later.” Buddy clicks her tongue but sits again, and I’m guilty to say that I feel glad. I don’t want this to end just yet.

These two men, Jet and Peter but mostly Peter…

Peter Nureyev, getting back to his feet above a clutter of fallen weights. He’s still grinning, bruises forming on his bare skin. He makes this noise in the back of his throat that’s half-purr, half-snarl, and wholly sexy. I don’t think I’ve ever been this aroused in my life. Jet charges him again, but he doesn’t move or try to dive - instead at the last minute he jumps, catches one of the ropes dangling from the ceiling. It’s one of the things we use to practice climbing before heists; now he swings forward on it like a vine in some bad jungle movie, and then arcs back around to smash into Jet from the side.

Jet lands face-first on the ground. Nureyev slides down the rope, almost delicately, into a crouch beside him, one foot on his back to hold him down until he can get him fully pinned. Jet shoves him hard by his chest, hard enough to bruise, and Nureyev takes the force without losing balance and punches right back, knocking Jet onto his back on the floor. They roll around for a few seconds, in that motion blur again, punching and flailing and this is  _ really really really  _ hot, until the dust settles and Jet’s on his back, and Nureyev is pinning him between his knees, and I’m so hard I think I’m going to just sort of keel over and die. 

“Finally,” Nureyev purrs, scooping up his knife from the floor. He tips Jet’s chin up with it. God I wish that were me. “Do you want to accept defeat?”

Jet growls in annoyance. 

“Better not say anything, then. Rita?” Nureyev looks over his bare, bruised shoulder, probably to ask Rita for a countdown or something, but then his eyes land on me. 

It’s like my soul leaves my body, when his eyes lock with mine. He must be able to see the effect all this has had on me, and I expect him to end me just as completely as he’s about to end Jet. To do something Nureyev-ian and snide, like wink, or hell, blow me a kiss or something. 

Instead he blushes.

And before I have a second to think about what that means, Jet takes advantage of the distraction to flip Nureyev over. He yelps and tries to wriggle away, to throw a punch back, but too late - Jet’s pinning his stomach, holding his wrists down with those huge hands, feet pressing his ankles into the floor. “Let go!” Nureyev exclaims.

“That would defeat the point of the fight. Rita?”

“Okay, countdown! You’re at two seconds!” Rita watches her stopwatch while Nureyev thrashes around underneath Jet like a fish caught on a hook, and then when I think I’m actually about to melt into a puddle, Rita clicks down the button. “Aaaaand that’s ten! Sorry, Mistah Pine, but Jet wins.”

Jet gets up and dusts himself off. “A satisfying ending,” he says, accepting the wet towel that Vespa hands him. Nureyev stays lying on the floor until he catches his breath again, then slowly unfolds his long limbs into a standing position. He wipes his hand across his mouth, leaving a smear of blood like lipstick. “Good fight,” says Jet to him. 

“Yes.” He bares his sharp teeth and walks away, bumping my shoulder with his as he passes. “Congratulations.”

The door slams shut behind him. Buddy and Vespa roll their eyes in perfect unison. 

Jet goes to get cleaned up. I’m not sure where Buddy, Vespa, and Rita are planning to go, but they disperse, leaving me alone in the gym. I start down the hall, not really sure where I’m going yet, when suddenly a hand grabs my wrist out of nowhere.

“Come with me,” says Nureyev. I am very weak and so I go with him. 

He takes me to his room and closes the door behind us. Blanche Pine whirls on me. “What on earth was that? You distracted me on purpose!”

“What? No I didn’t!” 

“You did!” He throws off the towel wrapped around his shoulders and plants his hands on his still bare, glistening hips. “You wanted me to lose.” 

“Oh my god, you’re so stuck up. None of us care about this stupid game other than you and Jet, okay? Why the hell would I even care if you lose or not?”

“Obviously you wanted Jet to win -”

“Why’s that obvious?”

“Because obviously you’re in love with him!” Nureyev snaps at full volume. I freeze. 

So that’s why. 

“You really think that?” I say. I almost start laughing. “Nureyev.” He turns to look at me when I use his name. “I’m not in love with Jet, okay? Don’t get me wrong, he’s really hot, like  _ really _ hot, but -” Oh god, now I’m going to have to tell him. I swallow hard. “...but the reason I was staring at you was bec-cause, uh… I can’t say this with a straight face -”

“Then say it without one.” His voice is commanding. I blush a million different temperatures and duck my head. 

“I was thinking about - about, uh -”

“Juno _ . _ ”

“Fine,  _ I want you to manhandle me  _ like you just did with him,  _ okay _ ?!”

Silence. This is where I die. I bury my hot face in my hands. A moment later, I feel his hands cover mine and he slowly lowers them. One hand holds both of mine between those slender fingers; the other reaches up to lift my chin. His eyes pierce into mine. 

“ _ Juno, _ ” he repeats, his voice a husky whisper. He raises my hand to his mouth and kisses it, gently. “Darling - if I’d known you still wanted me, you could have had me. Whenever, however you liked.”

My heart starts racing. “Wait, do you - do you actually want me too?”

“I thought that was fairly obvious, from the way I’ve been staring at you.”

This time I actually do laugh. “God, now I feel so angry at myself.” 

“Mm. Well, we can redirect that, I think.” He steps closer, making me step back, further into his room, his space. His dark eyes shimmer under the sheen of sweat across his face from the fight. “What was that you were saying about me manhandling you?”

My chest clenches. “Okay,” I squeak. 

And then he grabs me by my shoulders and slams me against the wall, hard enough to make the metal creak and rattle. Our lips crash together in desperate passion, unlike any kiss we’ve ever had before. I grab him by his bare shoulders and meet the heat of his tongue with mine, until then his is halfway down my throat, before he breaks off the kiss with a maddeningly adorable little moan. “Juno.” 

“Peter -  _ oh my god _ .” He starts kissing my neck and I gasp, slamming my head back against the wall. That echo can probably be heard on the other end of the ship. Peter pulls my shirt over my head and smiles when he sees the lace underneath. 

“What’s this?” 

I forgot I’m wearing a bralette today. “It’s -”

“It’s cute.” He reaches around me to undo the clasp. “Wear it again sometime.” And then he rips it from my body with his teeth. I don’t even have time to process how sexy that is before he throws me backwards into his bed. 

I like people that look like they could take me apart. Peter Nureyev is taking me apart right now. 

“You,” he sighs, kneeling above me. His hands grab my wrists. I’m completely pinned and I absolutely love it. “You are simply exquisite, have I told you that?”

“No, but tell me now -”

“Shut up.” He pushes my arm, playful but a little rough, and kisses my mouth to silence me. “This is the part where I rip your clothes off, alright?” 

I nod mutely. He strips the rest of my clothes off and grabs me by my sides again, and his nails are a little sharp, leaving small crescent moons in my scarred skin, while his lips press along the outlines of my bones, my throat and my sternum and my ribcage. His teeth tear into the soft part of my shoulder like I’m a meal and when I whimper he grins and does it again, on the other side. “Hmm, you like that, do you?”

“Peter -”

“Shhhh.” He straddles me between those magnificent, dangerous thighs, and reaches down to pull my legs open. I actually feel a faint scream build in the back of my throat, because this feels  _ amazing _ , better than anything ever has, exactly everything I’ve been dreaming about - he covers my mouth with his hand and whispers again, “ _ Shhhh. _ ” He kisses the insides of my thighs. “You’re so  _ tense _ . Look at you, though - you look like a goddess, you’re paradise,  _ really _ , darling.”

“Harder-”

He laughs and seizes a soft part of my thigh between those sharp teeth. “I missed you.”

I grab him by his hair and yank his face back up towards mine. “I said harder.” I crush my mouth against his again, digging my hands into him, wanting to just feel him under my fingers, imprint the shapes of my hands onto him, cover him in kisses and feel him do the same to me - and then he rolls over me so I’m pinned again. He sits up above me and pushes back his hair. Sweat pools in the hollow of his collarbone. “Is there something you want from me?”

“I mean - I’d love for you to," I gasp, "to mark me up."

“Ah, well then I have an idea.” He reaches over to the bedside table, outside of my vision. I’m confused, is he getting lube, but he’s already grabbed a packet - nope, it’s lipstick, blood red lipstick, and he coats his mouth with it before crushing his lips to mine. 

I’m actually going to die this time. 

I’m his canvas, and he paints on me, drawing lovebites and bruises and lipstick kisses along my body, while I lie smitten all the while. And when it gets even more intense - when I’m clinging to him, when he’s in me, when I’m screaming into his mouth - with every push and gasp and breath I feel heat and warmth and light pulsing in my skin and in my sweat, mingling with his sweat in all the places where our bodies press together, on and on -

“I love you,” I gasp out.

-and then it’s over. His face is above mine; he’s breathing heavily. Sweat holds his hair to his brow, his brown eyes clear and bright. He smiles. His forehead falls against mine. I catch my breath, slowly, my limbs falling still and my body relaxing.

“Wow,” I say, “we really just did that.” 

“We did, darling.” He kisses me softly between my eyes as I let them fall closed. “I love you too.”

With all this heat, I suggest maybe a cold bath is in order. Peter insists on drawing it up for me, because he wants to do something nice for me, because he is a dork. The cool water is so comfortable. He’s put in this pink bath bomb that dyed the water the color of a sunrise and turned it silk smooth, with soft clouds of bubbles that smell like roses and lavender floating on top. It’s so romantic, just  _ romantic.  _ No one’s ever really just been romantic with me before. I lean back against his chest and close my eyes. 

“Do you do this for all of the people you sleep with?” I ask.

“Only the ones that deserve it.”

“Oh yeah? How many has that been.”

“Just one.”

I turn towards him. “You’re such a sap. C’mere.” I cradle his jaw in my fingertips and kiss him, slowly. He draws my face down to his shoulder and places a quick peck against my forehead. 

“Juno?”

“Hmm?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were still in love with me?” His hand, stroking the back of my neck, leaves a line of foam from the bubble bath. 

“I dunno,” I say. “I guess I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same.” I nuzzle my head into his chest. “I think this was even better than last time.”

“Mm, well we’re healthier. And you’re so  _ pretty _ .” He sighs happily and squishes my stomach. “So soft. You don’t know your own charm, do you? You threw me so off guard when you looked at me today..” 

“Sorry.” 

“Oh, please don’t be. Look where it landed us.” He smiles. “Although, I’m sure our crew members will wonder why I now have even more bruises.” I slide down under the water to hide my blush. He chuckles and scoops me back up. “Only teasing, darling.”

It’s so comfortable, lying here in the cool silky embrace of the water with him. I can feel his heart beating against my ear, and the water lapping gently at the exposed edges of my body, my shoulder and hip not under the foam. Peter’s slender fingers stroke through my damp hair, and I cuddle a little closer to him. There are so many things I want to say to him right now, and suddenly I realize that I can say them. 

So I pick the most important. 

I lift my face to look at him; he has his head leaning back against the rim of the tub, with his eyes closed. “Hey,” I murmur, nudging his side gently, in case he’s fallen asleep. “Hey, Peter.” 

“Hmm?” He opens his eyes. 

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

He smiles, kisses me softly on my lips. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He leans his head back against the rim again and closes his eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” 

I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to leave his arms. I want to rest here in this water with him, and let my eyes fall closed and my cares fall behind me. 

I want it, and I can have it. 

So I stay. 

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe i wrote this but god damn I'm happy with it (also full disclosure I did not come up with the title, Robin did, so I once again owe them my life).
> 
> Come fight me on Tumblr at this-is-a-podcast-fanblog.


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